


Mr. Suave

by roebling



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Not!Fic, Ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-19
Updated: 2011-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-24 18:32:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AKA preposterous high school AU not!fic with charming!Dallon and clueless!Spencer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. Suave

**Author's Note:**

> Most definitely not beta-ed. IDEK.

Spencer does not care for the guy Brendon found to play bass.

Wait. Strike that.

Spencer thinks the guy Brendon found to play base is a smarmy asshole jerk.

“He’s too tall,” Spencer hisses.

They’re having an impromptu band meeting in Spencer’s mother’s linen closet.

Brendon rolls his eyes. “That is not a legitimate objection,” he says.

Brendon’s signed up to take the SATs in a few weeks. He got a pack of vocabulary flashcards from somewhere, and now he’s talking like Charles Dickens or somebody. Ryan would be so proud, if he were, y’know, still on this side of the continental divide.

“I know it’s tough but you’re going to reconcile yourself with being the second tallest.” Then Brendon’s eyes get all wide. “Dude, he’s really good. He’s way better than that Brent kid we auditioned last week. He’s totally awesome.”

Well. It seems the vocabulary is still a work in progress.

Spencer scowls. “He doesn’t fit with our image. He’s too good looking.”

“Oh woah, woah,” Brendon says. “Are you calling me ugly? Are you calling yourself ugly? Spencer, I’m a future heartthrob.”

“Ugh,” says Spencer. “Calm down. I just mean … he’s all Hollister-y, Brendon. Like he’s about to pop off his tee shirt or something so some cheerleader can admire his abs.”

“You shouldn’t buy into stereotypes perpetuated by the popular media,” Brendon says, shaking his head. “Besides, you’ve got him all wrong. Dallon’s not like that at all, Spence. I told you, he’s in my English class and he sits in the back corner and draws comics all period. He’s totally our kind of people. And you have to admit he’s the best bass player we know.”

Begrudgingly, Spencer admits this is true. Of course, they only know three bass players, including Brendon.

“Awesome,” Brendon says, grinning. “He’s in then. Let’s go let him know.”

So Spencer caves and Dallon ‘OMG he’s so amazing and such a talented musician and did you know, Spence, he had his own band back in Utah and they put out an EP?’ Weekes becomes the new bass player for Panic! at the Disco.

It’s not like it matters. The band is basically doomed. Ryan is in Florida living with his mom and sure, Shane’s little cousin Ian is some kind of dwarf guitar prodigy but with Ryan gone, they haven’t got anyone who can actually write lyrics. Which are kind of important, despite what Brendon says. He’s trying, Spencer knows. He’s carrying around this little black notebook on top of all his school crap. It’s got a little lock on it and Spencer calls it Brendon’s diary when he’s feeling especially annoyed that it’s taken them forty five minutes to get through the Mona Lisa song ONE TIME. Maybe Brendon will turn out to be a lyrical genius, but Spencer would be surprised if they ever play another show.

Spencer’s week continues to sucks. He’s got a lab report due on Friday and he definitely was in class they day they did the lab on osmosis, but he can’t remember what happen to his slices of potato after he put them into the solution. He’s got to Google ‘ap bio osmosis lab’ because the guy who’s his lab partner is a future Rhodes Scholar or something who won’t compromise his academic integrity by sharing a few answers. He definitely feels a little guilty, but he’s got bigger things to worry about.

Namely, they had their first practice as the newly incarnated Panic! on Tuesday. Dallon ‘Did I tell you I like every awesome band ever; isn’t my taste so great?’ Weekes had been there and Spencer had to begrudgingly admit that the guy could play bass. He could also, apparently, play keyboards, guitar, trumpet, and sing more than passably.

It was awesome. Just awesome. He and Brendon giggled like school children while Spencer sat in the corner, trapped behind his drums, scowling at his grandmother’s creepy taxidermy duck. The duck didn’t have a name, but Spencer had called him Alfred since he was a kid. Spencer and Alfred, they went way back.

Spencer rested his sticks against the rim of his snare and gritted his teeth while Brendon and Dallon sang No Doubt to each other. Don’t Speak was a pretty awesome song -- Spencer couldn’t argue. Dallon and Brendon knew all the words and were singing it to each other with um, a very passionate passion. It was the dumbest thing Spencer had ever seen, because honestly, Brendon was way too short to be serenaded by Dallon, and Dallon’s hair was seriously kind of a joke. Plus neither of them knew all the words and they were making ridiculous exaggerated faces and little Ian was rocking out in the corner, spinning in circles as he played. They all looked like they were having a totally awesome time.

Spencer was pretty sure that Alfred was laughing at him.

Things were finally looking up on Friday. Spencer had Bio second period, and he handed in his fabricated lab results. Through some sort of miraculous allignment of the stars and planets both Mrs. Luckey and Mr. Tantarello were out, so periods three and four were a total write off. Spencer zoned out as they watched the Spanish version of the Princess Bride for the eight time, and the sub in Tantarello's class let them play silent ball.

Not too shabby.

His lunch period was kind of sucky. It was the last lunch, and he didn't know anybody else in it. The only good thing was that it was also the smallest lunch, which meant that Spencer had no problem securing a table in the back corner all for himself. He was unwrapping his tuna fish sandwich when he saw someone coming towards him, head and shoulders taller than the herd of students.

Ugh. It was Dallon.

He beamed and sat down without so much as a 'Is this seat taken?'

Spencer thought that was pretty rude. For all Dallon knew, Spencer had a standing lunch date with three charming and witty young scholars, where they discussed like, art and the latest books they read.

Actually, apart from the charming thing, that did kind of describe what lunch with Ryan had been like.

"I was so stoked when Brendon said you had eight period lunch," Dallon said. He's poking at the mysterious pasta dish on his lunch tray.

"Oh," Spencer said. So Brendon, that traitor, had tipped Dallon off. "Yeah. Uh. It's kind of the quietest lunch period, I guess."

"Definitely," Dallon said. "My old school was way bigger than this. You had to wait in line and take a ticket to get a seat."

That sounded awful. What kind of school had Dallon gone to? Oh god. Maybe he'd been in juvenile detention because he was secretly psychotic and had smashed someone's teeth in in a fit of rage.

Dallon stared. "I was just kidding, dude," he said.

"Oh, yeah," Spencer said. "Right." His cheeks went hot. Stupid Dallon. Spencer isn't used to his sense of humor. How's he supposed to know what's a joke and what's not?

"It was way more crowded than this," Dallon said. "I kind of like it here better. I mean, I've only been here a week and I've already met you and Bren and Ian. You guys are awesome. I think Utah might have the worst music taste per capita of any state in the nation."

"Do that collect that data with the census?" Spencer asked, kind of under his breath, and he flinched because that was kind of a totally nasty thing to say, the kind of thing that would have prompted Ryan to punch him in the shoulder. Not that Ryan really packed much of a punch. It was more like a normal person tap. Dallon, though ... he looked like he could really wallop a guy if he wanted to.

But he was laughing. His eyes were screwed up and he had set his table down and he had kind of a loud, weirdly booming laugh that was just on the border of embarrassing. Spencer looked around, trying to see if anyone was staring or whatever. Nobody was. Dallon didn't look like he would have cared if they were.

It turned out that Dallon is also a Mormon and also the youngest of a bunch of kids. He was like Brendon's creepy alternate universe doppleganger. His parents, though, must have been a little bit cooler than Brendon's because they totally knew he was in the band.

"They're going to come to our first show," Dallon said. "The whole Weekes clan, with bells and whistles on."

"If we have a first show," Spencer said, morosely.

"Aw, don't be so glum, Spencey," Dallon said. "We'll find some place that'll let us play. If the community center doesn't work out, maybe we go around to some of the local bars. We can offer them sexual favors in exchange for a half an hour on stage."

He said this totally matter of fact, like it was a normal thing people would actually do. Spencer kind of stuttered.

"Um, I don't think that would work out very well," he said. "Ian's too innocent. We couldn't make him do that. And I don't think they'd offer us very much in exchange for two virginal Mormons and me."

Dallon made a funny face that passed in just a second, and then he waggled his eyebrows and grinned. "Oh," he said. "You'd be surprised."

The lunch thing became routine. And fine, Spencer got it. Eating lunch alone was kind of sucky; he hadn't really been looking forward to it himself, and it didn't seem fair to make Dallon endure the same fate. And maybe it was just that his tolerance was increasing, but Dallon wasn't all that awful. He was totally a huge dork, way dorkier than Spencer even -- he read comic books and wore these rocket scientist glasses and actually read these book about like, the universe and planets and stars and stuff that he took out from the library. He definitely wasn’t anything like the bone-headed jock Spencer had feared he’d be at first.

But honestly, maybe that had been better, because Spencer kind of got why Brendon kept making doe eyes at the guy. And Dallon was totally grilling him for details on how to win Brendon’s heart, albeit in a sneaky and sort of underhanded way.

They were down at the park near the mall, waiting for Brendon to get out of work. Spencer always gave Brendon a ride, even though he claimed to not mind taking the bus. The RTC buses were filled with kinda creepy people though, and they always smelled like fried onions. Brendon wasn’t fooling anyone. Dallon usually volunteered to tag along and keep Spencer company, even though Spencer said he really didn’t have to. Whatever, it was better hanging out with Dallon in the park than window shopping for sneakers he couldn’t afford.

They were swinging. It wasn’t working too well. Dallon was clearly way too tall, and even Spencer’s feet dragged on the ground. He’d had a growth spurt the previous summer, and he was still getting used to being not-short.

The swinging kind of sucked. Spencer was about to suggest they head to the mall early and see if Brendon was working alone. If his co-workers bailed early, he was very liberal with the free smoothies.

Out of nowhere, Dallon said, “Do you think you would want to come play laser tag this weekend? Brendon mentioned one time that you’re practically a pro at laser tag. I have some free passes from my brother. Could be fun.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. He’d already noticed that Dallon tended to talk a lot when he got nervous.

“Who doesn’t like laser tag?” he said. “But the teams are going to be all off sides if it’s Brendon, me, and you. Maybe Ian can come too.”

Dallon had gone weirdly pale. He was staring down at the ground, where his toes had dragged two lines in the dirty sand. “Oh yeah,” he said. “Excellent idea. Ian’s such a little guy. I’m sure he’s very stealthy.”

“Well, that’s good, because Brendon sucks. We should put them on a team together.”

They both looked up at the same exact time and it was one of those weird moments that seemed to last way longer than it did. Dallon was smiling, not the huge grotesque smile he sometimes made when he told a dumb joke and was trying to get Brendon to laugh, but a normal-sized, nice smile.

He really was handsome like one of those guys in a catalog or something. It was going to be weird if they ever got their acts together and played a show.

The next week, Spencer finally got Ryan on the phone.

“He’s just like …” Spencer sighed, exasperated.

“I see your ability to articulate your thoughts has degraded in my absence,” Ryan said. “You should borrow Brendon’s SAT vocab cards.”

“How do you even know about those?”

“I sent them to him,” Ryan said, smugly. “Some people appreciate the necessity of scoring well on standardized tests.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “You’re awful,” he told Ryan. “I thought the Florida weather was going to chill you out.”

“I got sunburned the first week,” Ryan said. “I’ve been wearing SPF 90 since then. But stop trying to change the subject. So this Dallon guy. He’s tall, and handsome, and funny, and smart, and a huge dork, and totally perfect, and …”

“He’s in love with Brendon,” Spencer said. “They’re going to fall in love and have a torrid affair and then Dallon’s going to break Brendon’s heart and the band is going to break up and I’m going to spend the rest of my life as a CPA.”

“Hmm,” Ryan said.

Spencer flopped back on his bed. Ryan was being no help. His mom was cooking something downstairs that smelled kind of gross, and Brendon had eaten the last of his secret stash of Girl Scout cookies the day before.

“So?”

“You totally have a crush on him,” Ryan said. “You’re jealous.”

“Oh my god,” Spencer said. “A crush on Brendon. Are you kidding me? That’s … just no. I mean, he’s a great guy and his new haircut is way better than that bowl cut his mom had him rocking and he’s basically my best friend …”

“Hey! --” Ryan protested.

“You’re my best friend in absentia,” Spencer reassured him. “But no, there is no way that I have a crush on Brendon. Besides, I’m like eighty percent sure he’s straight. I think when he said he wanted to experiment he was talking about like, holding Sarah’s hand or something.”

Ryan was laughing. He sounded kind of deranged.

“What’s so funny?” Spencer demanded.

“You are so clueless,” Ryan said, gasping for air.

“What? What?” Spencer said.

There was a knocking and then his door swung open. It was his dad. “I’ve been calling you for five minutes, Spence. Dinner’s ready.”

He groaned. “I have to go,” he told Ryan. “Also, I hate you.”

Ryan just laughed, and then the line went dead.

“Sorry,” he told his dad. “I haven’t talked to Ryan in like, forever.”

“Not since last week, huh?” his dad said.

“Yeah,” Spencer said. “Forever. What did mom make for dinner?”

His dad made a face. “Corned beef and cabbage.”

Ugh. Seriously, someone out there had it in for him.

At Thursday practice the next week Dallon shared some lyrics he had written. Spencer kind of expected them to be about worm holes or Family Guy or Dr Pepper or something, but they were kind of … good. Good-ish, definitely. Brendon seemed to agree, because he and Dallon were hunched over the sheets of notebook paper, humming and making little annotations.

Alfred was on his wall, looking smug as ever. Spencer glared, but, unsurprisingly, the duck took no notice.

The next week Dallon and Spencer were eating lunch and arguing about who was more awesome: Yoshi or Pikachu. Spencer came down firmly in the Yoshi camp. Super Mario World was without question the best video game ever.

“I’ll give you that Mario is basically the ultimate in Japanese video game franchises,” Dallon said. “But Pikachu is sentient. And so adorable! What does Yoshi have on that, huh? Huh?!”

Someone cleared their throat nearby. Dallon and Spencer both looked up. Breezy, the very tall and very pretty head cheerleader, was standing at their table.

“Hey Spencer. Hey Dallon. How are you guys?”

“Um,” Spencer said. He hadn’t spoken a word to Breezy in his entire life, even though they were in the same English class.

“We’re fine,” Dallon said. “What can we help you with?”

She smiled. She had a kind of retro vibe going on (and it was entirely Ryan’s fault that Spencer knew that). Her lipstick was very red.

“So I hear you guys have a band,” she said.

“Yeah,” Spencer said. “It’s actually Ryan Ross’s band. Do you remember him? He moved to Florida, but we started the band two years ago.”

“Oh,” Breezy said. She looked a little confused. “But if he’s in Florida …?”

“They found replacements,” Dallon said. “Hi. That’s me.” He waved.

He was, Spencer thought, entirely too charming.

“Ohh,” Breezy said. “Dallon to the rescue, huh?” She smiled again. Spencer felt kind of like he’d prefer to melt into the greasy floor of the cafeteria. “Well, since you guys are still together, do you think you could come to my rescue? The band that was supposed to play homecoming bailed on us last minute.” She rolled her eyes. “Apparently one of the guys got arrested for public indecency. Ridiculous, right?”

Spencer started to say that well, they probably weren’t really ready to play in front of a live audience yet, especially not an audience made up of their living, breathing, scornful peers, but Dallon beat him to the chase.

“We’re at your service, mademoiselle,” he said.

Spencer groaned and closed his eyes before he could see Dallon take a knee or kiss her hand or something equally ridiculous.

He expected Brendon to be kind of nervous about their sudden upcoming performance, but he was surprisingly excited.

“I think this is fate telling us it’s our time,” he exclaimed, high-fiving Ian and almost tripping over one of the amps. “Ohh, can we wear matching suits when we play?”

They practiced all week, except for Wednesday, when they all piled into Spencer’s car and went to the big thrift store downtown to try to find suits for Ian and Spencer. Dallon and Brendon had theirs from church or whatever. Spencer kind of wanted to ask if it was blasphemous to wear your Sunday suit to play rock music riddle with profanities to a bunch of high-schoolers, but Dallon and Brendon had launched into a half-bitter, half-hilarious diatribe about some of the more ridiculous tenants of Mormonism. Spencer didn’t feel it was his place to intrude, so he slumped against the arm rest and watched Ian bop in time to the music.

The Salvation Army thrift store was huge. Spencer had spent a fair amount of time there with Ryan, searching out unsightly paisley ties and embroidered waist coats. They spread out so they could cover more ground. Half the stuff was hideous and smelled like it had been left in a mildewy closet for decades. Spencer went through a rack of dress shirts. Most of them were pink striped, or checked, or floral print. They had settled on a slightly more conservative style. He found a few white shirts in the right size, and a pair of tuxedo pants with weird pleating on the front that he thought fit the bill.

He tried them on and scowled at himself in the mirror. He needed Ryan here; he had a sense of style, even if it was the sense of style of a nineteenth century dandy. Spencer just looked like a kid in a white shirt and slightly too long pants. He pulled at the collar. The pants and a vest that matched, and he put that on, and maybe that was a little bit better, but mostly he felt like he looked like someone dressing up for Halloween as a butler, or maybe a penguin.

He didn’t want to play a show in front of his entire school dressed as a penguin.

Someone whistled low and long.

In the mirror, Spencer could see Dallon leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest.

“Looking sharp, Smith,” he said.

Spencer’s cheeks immediately started to glow.

“Uh, thanks. I wasn’t really sure if this was …”

“It is,” Dallon said. His voice is sure and deep. “It definitely is.”

Spencer was flustered, and he wasn’t even quite sure why.

“You have to come help me, though, dude,” Dallon said. He’s still watching Spencer just a little too intently. “Ian found a mint green tuxedo and I don’t think Brendon’s got enough fortitude to withstand his puppy dog eyes.”

“If we did mint green and black we could change the band name to the Mint Chocolate Chips,” Spencer said.

Dallon laughed and laughed. “You crack me up,” he said. “But hurry up, before we’ve got to change the band name to the Rainbow Sherbets.”

The homecoming dance wasn’t really anything special. It was just held in the high school. The tables in the cafeteria were covered in white table clothes, and the commons had been swathed in midnight blue tulle and white twinkly lights. It didn’t look awful, exactly, but it didn’t really look like any of the high school dances in the movies looked. They carted all their equipment in while the rest of the school was at the football game. There wasn’t a sound guy, exactly, just one of the kids from the AV club who helped them get set up. The acoustics were horrible, but Brendon was so excited he didn’t even comment.

They ran through a few songs and then went back to Spencer’s place to get changed. Ian had been talked out of his mint green suit, but he’d sold Brendon on the idea of cummerbunds. They each had their own color (‘Like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’, Brendon had said. ‘Cowabunga’ exclaimed Dallon and Ian, in unison and on cue.). Spencer’s mom insisted on taking a bunch of pictures of them standing in front of the fire place, like they were actually going to the dance and not just playing.

“Mom, it’s like we’re working,” Spencer said. “You don’t need pictures of us going to work!”

“I know that,” Ginger had said. “It’s your first show, honey. Of course I need pictures.”

Spencer was maybe a little more nervous than he let on. By the time they got back to the school the other kids had started to arrive. Some (insane, preposterous) people had gone way overboard and rented a limo. Spencer had permission to park his car in the back lot, where the teacher’s parked. There wasn’t a back stage, really, so they just hung out in the library for a while. Brendon was singing scales.

Spencer leaned back against the wall. Dallon sidled up beside him. He was suspiciously quiet, sometimes, for such a tall guy. He bumped his shoulder into Spencer’s.

“You nervous?” he asked.

“No,” Spencer said. “Not at all. Not really.”

“I’m nervous,” Dallon said, frankly.

“I thought your old band played out all the time,” Spencer said.

Dallon just shrugged. “Still get nervous,” he said. “I might screw up.”

Spencer snorted. “Please, you’re not going to screw up. I’m going to rush the beat, or Brendon’s going to forget all the words again, or Ian’s shoelaces are going to come untied and he’s going to trip and fall off stage and break his wrists. You’re like Mr. Suave or something. You’re not going to screw up.”

“Both his wrists?” Dallon asked.

Spencer felt shaky with anxiety. He hoped Dallon couldn’t feel it. “Yes, both of them.”

“Poor Ian,” Dallon said. They both looked over to where Ian was hunched over his acoustic. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Spencer really, really hoped it didn’t, but his mind gladly supplied a whole range of alternative catastrophes, from minor (Brendon having a sneezing fit) to major (their equipment shorting out and catching on fire).

“You really think I’m Mr. Suave?” Dallon asked.

Spencer shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “You’re all like, good at stuff, and you always know what to say, and you really are the best bass player we know.”

“Gee,” Dallon said. “Here I thought I was slightly overgrown basket case. I must do a good job hiding it.” He leaned closer, like he was looking to read the truth of the matter in Spencer’s face. It was unsettling, but not exactly in a bad way. Spencer opened his mouth. Dallon moved a little closer …

And the library door opened. It was Mrs. Luckey. They were on.

Spencer couldn’t remember much of that show, afterwards. The heat was turned up way too high and he remembered tugging his bow tie loose after the first song. The lights were so bright they could barely see the kids standing out on the dance for. Spencer thought that was a good thing, in case their music was so awful that everyone had decided it was a good time for a bathroom break. At some point, though, improbably as it was, Spencer started to hear applause, louder and louder after each song. He knew his face was probably a sweaty, awful red, and his hair was a mess, but he didn’t care. Dallon and Ian and Brendon did their thing. It was totally awesome.

When they finally finished, they took a bow, and everyone whistled and cheered. Ian’s grin split his face. Brendon’s eyes were shining, and Sarah was cat-calling him. Spencer knew he was beaming like an idiot, too. Dallon looked as cool and calm as ever. Spencer turned and whispered, “Nice job, Mr. Suave.”

Dallon didn’t flush, but he grinned, wide and goofy, which was nearly was good.

Much, much later, they’d shed their formal wear and finally got most of their gear loaded into Spencer’s car. Brendon and Ian and gone back inside to use the restroom. Dallon was fiddling with his cell phone. Spencer leaned back against the side of the car. It was a chilly night. THe sky was thick with stars. His arms ached, and his stupid pointy dress shoes were pinching his toes. He felt kind of awesome.

“That was really great,” he said. “Let’s do that again soon.”

Dallon laughed. “So are you finally ready to pursue your destiny of rock star-dom, Spencer Smith? Was playing the Palo Verde Homecoming Spectacular all you needed to push you over the edge?”

Spencer smiled. God. He could never tell if Dallon was making fun of him.

“I guess I just thought we’d end up looking like idiots and getting laughed off the stage, or I’d fall off my stool or something,” Spencer said. “I just needed to do it, to know I could.”

Dallon smiled this time. It was one of those soft, fond smiles that made Spencer’s stomach flip.

“Words of wisdom,” he said. He cleared his throat. “Uh, I guess I’m taking your advice here.”

He leaned closer still, and Spencer wondered if he had something on his face, like an eyelash or food even though he hadn’t eaten since lunch. Nervous had stolen his appetite. Dallon’s eyes were huge and liquid up close. He parted his lips, and kissed Spencer on the mouth.

It was very nice. Dallon had soft lips and long fingers that came up and carded through Spencer’s hair. Spencer didn’t have exactly enormous amounts of experience, but he was awfully thankful for all those middle school parties Ryan had dragged him along to. Playing Seven Minutes in Heaven with a girl meant that Spencer wasn’t the least bit turned on, but he’d had a lot of opportunities to practice his technique.

They broke apart.

Spencer shook his head. “You like Brendon,” he said. “You’ve been trying to wheedle information out of me about him for months. Don’t you like Brendon?”

Dallon’s eyes got wider. “Brendon’s kind of heterosexual,” he said. “I picked up on that right away. He was trying to help me woo you.” He looked crestfallen. “I thought you were just trying to let me down gently.”

“Woo me? Me?” Spencer didn’t think this was some kind of hidden camera prank, but one couldn’t be too sure. “Um, but you’re all tall and hot and you can play tons of instruments and even Breezy has a crush on you. You were trying to woo me?”

“Not doing a very good job of it, apparently,” Dallon mumbled. “You didn’t even know you were being wooed! I thought I was Mr. Suave.”

“I think that’s under re-consideration,” Spencer said, smiling. He felt like every atom in his body was a-tremble. “You’re going to have to prove me right.”

Dallon kissed him again. It was a good start.


End file.
